


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by twistyladder



Series: Adventure of a Lifetime [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistyladder/pseuds/twistyladder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out, nobody celebrates the holidays anymore in the wasteland. The Sole Survivor and Hancock are gonna do it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 22: Prologue

The Sole Survivor was woken in the morning by the unmistakeable sound of both the heads of the settlement’s brahmin mooing simultaneously, right outside the house. He slitted his eyes open, staring blearily up at the scrap metal ceiling. It was light outside, at least- pale sunlight filtered through the gaps in the walls, dimly lighting the bedroom he shared with Hancock.

“Why the fuck don’t they get a fence to keep that thing in?” the aforementioned ghoul groused next to him, having evidently been woken as well.

“Because I’d have to be the one to build the fence, _and_ herd it in,” the Survivor answered sardonically. Not bothering to turn his head, he felt around blindly on the bedside table for his Pip-Boy, knocking an empty inhaler of Jet to the floor in the process.

Successfully grabbing the device and tugging it up to sit on his chest, the Sole Survivor rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear up his vision enough to read the tiny text on the screen. Next to him, Hancock sat up and stretched with a series of exaggerated grunting noises. The Survivor finally managed to read the time- 7:56 AM. An acceptable time to be up, he supposed- he needed as much time as possible for his duties to the Minutemen and the Railroad, anyway. Then, his eyes strayed to the part of the screen displaying the date.

“Oh shit!” The Survivor exclaimed, bolting upright like he’d been shot with a laser rifle, the Pip-Boy dropping into his lap.

Hancock turned towards him, mildly alarmed. “What, somethin’ wrong?”

The Survivor gestured at the Pip-Boy screen, looking panicked. “It’s almost Christmas! I hadn’t even thought about it, with everything that’s been happening…”

Hancock looked at him like he’d sprouted an extra limb (which, given the amount of low-level radiation he was exposed to on a regular basis, wouldn’t be as out of place as it would have been about 200 years ago). “Christmas? Isn’t that some… weird pre-war thing?”

Now the Sole Survivor looked confused, too. “Wait, do people not celebrate Christmas anymore? Or Hannukah or anything else?”

Hancock shook his head. “The practice of celebrating just about anything pretty much died when the world went to shit, I’d bet. Not to mention there’s not many people with calendars, anyway.”

The Survivor looked thoughtful, staring silently down at his screen for a moment. Then, he looked back up at Hancock, his expression unreadable. “Do _you_ want to celebrate Christmas? Pre-war style?”

“Well, uh…” Hancock looked uncertain. “What exactly would we have to do?”

The Survivor frowned pensively. “Well, a big part of Christmas is having a tree to decorate, which we’d probably have to get creative with, since there’s not many living trees left… and then you’d usually have a nice dinner, and people give gifts to the people they care about. And there’s other stuff too, like decorating the house, and making cookies, and- fuck, there’s no damn way we could get all that done in three days.”

Hancock shrugged a little, still looking mildly confused. “I mean, I guess we could give it a go. Maybe not all that stuff you just said, but…”

The Sole Survivor sighed and averted his eyes, looking back down at his Pip-Boy screen. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have tried to drag you into doing all that, not when we’ve got so much other stuff to do that’s more important.”

The ghoul frowned, feeling like there was something he was missing. “You… do wanna celebrate it, though, right? You seemed real excited earlier.”

“Not if you don’t want to, though!” the Survivor insisted. “Things aren’t anything like they were before the war, I… need to remember that.”

“Babe. Look at me.” Hancock put a hand on the Survivor’s bare shoulder, meeting his blue eyes with his black ones. “I don’t know jack shit about this Christmas thing, but if it’ll make you happy, we are damn well gonna do it. Okay?”

Looking somewhat stunned, the Sole Survivor nodded. “O-okay. Then, how about I make a checklist, of stuff we need to celebrate Christmas, and we can take care of the stuff on it while we’re going about our usual… ass-kicking duties.”

Hancock grinned. “Sounds like a plan. Before we do anything too wild we should... probably put some clothes on, though.”

The Sole Survivor blinked, then coughed awkwardly. "Yes. Let's do that."


	2. December 23: O, Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a decent Christmas tree in the wake of a nuclear apocalypse is a bit of a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this chapter is officially longer than everything else I've written of this series so far, combined. Oops?
> 
> I finished, self-beta'd, and posted this when I probably should've been going to sleep, so please pardon any errors.

List of Christmas celebration essentials in hand, the Sole Survivor and Hancock set out from Sanctuary Hills the next morning. Oberland Station had requested help with some local raiders, and they figured they could cross the first item off the list- a Christmas tree or some facsimile thereof- at some point while taking care of the problem.

As it turned out, said problem wasn’t just raiders- it was Super Mutants. A particularly violent group of them had holed up in Medford Memorial Hospital, and were making travel in the area near impossible.

“Oh my God, that’s perfect!” the Sole Survivor exclaimed when he heard where the Super Mutants were.

This earned him his second “just grew an extra limb” look from Hancock in as many days (the settler they were talking to didn’t say anything, but looked equally skeptical). “You’re… happy about going toe-to-toe with a gang of giant angry mutants?” The ghoul asked incredulously.

The Survivor pushed Hancock’s hat down over his eyes, earning a shout of protest. “Not that, smartass. What I mean is, hospitals in my day were always full of fake plants- I guess they thought it might help the mood of the place or something. But if there’s any left, we could find one to repurpose as a Christmas tree!”

After he finished huffily repositioning his hat, Hancock considered the idea. “Well, I kinda doubt scavvers would have any interest in a giant plastic plant, so I bet there are some in there… it’d be a pain in the ass to get one back to home base but hey, why not?”

“All right, nice!” the Sole Survivor turned back to the increasingly confused settler with a smile on his face. “Don’t worry ma’am, we’ll take care of those Super Mutants for you.”

Of course, as they approached their destination, the Sole Survivor wasn’t quite as chipper- while both he and Hancock were very capable fighters, Super Mutants meant business. This particular hospital, which they had already had to clear out once before, was an especially unpleasant location to go on the offensive in- there were three separate levels, all of which had sight lines to the ground floor entrance via balconies. Storming the place almost guaranteed charging right into a hail of gunfire, and whatever else the Mutants felt like throwing at them.

They couldn’t loiter outside very long strategizing, though- the Sole Survivor could see a radstorm rolling in in the distance. It would probably be over by the time they left the building, but they were never pleasant to get caught in, no matter how brief. So, he and Hancock eased their way through the sliding doors of the old hospital as quietly as possible.

Fortunately, none of the Mutants noticed them enter, and the lights near the door were all broken, cloaking them in shadow. Less-than-fortunately, they could easily see a Super Mutant cradling a Fat Man bomb in one hand loitering behind the reception desk.

“Get ready,” the Sole Survivor mouthed to Hancock, unshouldering the long-barrelled sniper rifle he kept with him for occasions such as these. Barely breathing, he lined up his sights with the head of the Suicider, hearing Hancock unholster his gun next to him.

BANG! The Survivor took the shot. But at the last second, the Super Mutant shifted slightly, just enough that the bullet only sliced his cheek open- a deep wound, but not an incapacitating one. The giant howled in pain, looking around wildly for whoever had shot him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” the Sole Survivor was muttering quietly to himself, reloading the gun as fast as possible. Next to him, Hancock was as tense as a drawn bow, eyes glued to the raging Super Mutant.

The new bullet loaded, the Survivor brought the gun up again, this time struggling to hit a moving target as the Mutant lumbered around, growling threats.

Then, several things happened in rapid succession. The Super Mutant turned towards the two in the doorway, finally spotting their silhouettes. He bellowed, raising the bomb he still carried in one hand and charging forward. With a shout of panic, the Survivor took his second shot. It hit the Mutant in the chest, not instantly fatal but staggering him enough that he evidently decided running all the way towards his target was unnecessary- and detonated the bomb.

The resulting explosion ripped through the hospital waiting room. Fortunately, the worst of it didn’t hit the Survivor or Hancock, but the shock wave from the blast slammed into them hard, throwing both of them into the wall behind them.

For a moment, there was eerie silence as the dust settled (either that, the Survivor thought, or he’d been deafened by the explosion).

The Sole Survivor sat up first, hearing gruff, alarmed voices coming from the other areas of the hospital.

Beside him, still lying on the floor, Hancock groaned. “Augh, fuck, my head.”

“Babe, c’mon, we gotta get ready, the rest of them will be on us any second. D’you need a stimpak?”

“‘d prefer some Jet, but yeah, probably,” Hancock said sardonically.

The stim got the ghoul back on his feet and ready for action, and not a moment too soon- two more Super Mutants charged in on the ground floor, and a third emerged on the second-floor balcony. The Sole Survivor drew his sword (the fancy radioactive one he’d found on a case he did for Nick), Hancock readied his gun, and the two of them prepared to unleash hell on the Super Mutants.

With the Suicider out of the picture, the rest of the fight was less challenging, just gruelling. What didn’t help was the Survivor getting distracted scanning for a viable potted plant as they ran through the halls of the facility, leading to Hancock having to shove him to the ground once to save him from getting concussed by a swung two-by-four.

Finally, all the Super Mutants lay bleeding on the floor, and the twosome were free to go searching for the perfect Christmas tree.

“Awright, so what exactly are we looking for, here?” Hancock asked, staring skeptically down at a plastic bromeliad sitting on a bedside table.

The Sole Survivor hummed thoughtfully. “Well, do you know what a pine tree looks like?”

“A what tree?”

The Survivor laughed. “I’ll take that as a no. Pine trees, which were the most commonly used type of Christmas tree, were kind of… shaped like an upside-down cone? We don’t necessarily have to find a tree shaped exactly like that, but what we need is something big and bush-y enough to put some decorations onto.”

“All right, sounds easy enough,” Hancock shrugged.

Half an hour of combing through dusty pre-war artifacts later, the best they’d turned up was what appeared to be a replica of a waist-height citrus tree, which had been tipped over behind a records desk on the third floor and miraculously remained un-trampled.

“Well, it’ll have to do,” the Sole Survivor sighed.

“Looks pretty nice to me,” said Hancock, trying to surreptitiously brush the dust bunnies off his coat. “Stick some decorations on that shit and you’ll barely be able to tell it’s 200 years old.”

The Survivor squinted at him. “Was that a subtle joke about my age?”

Hancock gasped dramatically and placed a hand on his chest. “What? I would never!”

“Tell me, have you ever seen another 238-year-old who looked as good as me?” The Survivor said defensively.

“Babe, I’ve never seen anyone who looks as good as you,” Hancock replied with a winning smile. The ghoul’s grin only widened as the Survivor blushed furiously and struggled to come up with a response.

Finally, the Survivor just coughed into his hand and grumbled, “Let’s just get this damn tree home.”

Which was easier said than done- they had to take turns carrying the tree, which wasn’t necessarily as heavy as it was just plain cumbersome, while whoever wasn’t carrying it kept an eye out for possible threats. One particularly smartass raider even decided to take a shot at the tree instead of Hancock, who was carrying it at the time. This resulted in a rain of shredded plastic leaves landing on the disgruntled ghoul- the raider’s laughter at this lasted about five seconds before the Sole Survivor jammed his sword into his stomach.

At long last, they arrived back in Sanctuary Hills, just in time for an early dinner. As they were headed back to their house at the end of the cul-de-sac, Nick Valentine hailed them from the curb.

“And what exactly are you two gonna do with that?” the synth asked, looking askance at the (now slightly roughed-up) fake potted tree the Sole Survivor was clutching to his chest.

“We’re celebrating Christmas!” The Survivor announced, at the same time that Hancock said “What do you think we’re gonna do with it?” with a salacious wiggle of his nonexistent eyebrows.

“Christmas, eh?” Nick drawled, electing to ignore Hancock’s response. “Trying to bring back the joys of pre-war life?”

“‘Trying’ being the operative word,” the Survivor replied, glancing dolefully at the plastic shrubbery in his arms. “We’ve only got two days left until Christmas and I have no idea how I’m gonna make any sort of decent decorations out of the scrap I’ve salvaged.”

“Care for a little help?” Nick offered. “I’m a pretty decent tinkerer, if I do say so myself.”

The Sole Survivor’s face brightened. “Sure, if you don’t mind! We’ve gotta go put this thing in the house and eat something real quick, but then I’ll come back and help out.”

Valentine threw him a mock salute with his metal hand. The Survivor hurried the rest of the way home after that, eager to finally put the tree down.

After some deliberation, they decided the tree looked best on top of the coffee table, since it looked sort of dinky just sitting on the floor. Dusting his hands off, the Sole Survivor walked backwards to where Hancock was studying their prize from a distance, and appraised the tree as well. “Hey, that doesn’t look half bad!” The human observed.

Hancock nodded, comfortably slinging an arm around the Survivor’s shoulders. “Looks pretty good to me. Not that I actually know what they hell any of this stuff is supposed to look like to begin with,” he added with a laugh.

“Well, hey, it’s a brave new world!” The Survivor said, flinging his free arm out dramatically. “We can reinvent Christmas if we damn well want to.”

++++++++++++

Later that evening, Hancock and the Sole Survivor stood in a similar position, admiring their now-decorated tree glittering in the glow from the overhead light. Actual Christmas lights hadn’t exactly been an option, so the two of them and Nick had put together some simple ornaments out of scrap wire and pieces of old jewelry. The result didn’t look very much like a pre-war Christmas tree, but it still looked pretty nice.

“You know, there’s another traditional Christmas decoration I didn’t tell you about,” said the Sole Survivor, turning to look at Hancock with a mischievous smile on his face.

The ghoul grinned back. “Oh, really? Should I be scared?”

“Oh no, I think you’ll like it,” the Survivor reassured him. “See that up there?” He pointed to the ceiling above them.

Hancock craned his neck to see what he was indicating. What seemed to be a couple of leaves from the tree, glued together at an angle with a few white beads attached where their points met, was hung from the ceiling above them with twine. “Uh… yeah, what’s it supposed to be?”

“Well, it’s the closest thing I could get to a plant called mistletoe. Back in the day, people would hang the stuff up, usually in doorways, and if two people ended up standing under it at the same time, they had to, uh… kiss.” He said the last word very quietly, blushing furiously and seemingly unable to look Hancock in the eye.

The ghoul grinned. “For real?” He used his arm around the Survivor’s shoulders to tug the human a little closer. “Now that sounds like the kinda tradition we ought to work on bringing back.”


	3. December 24: 'Twas The Night Before Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Festive music is acquired, Christmas presents are decidedly not acquired, and theories are produced as to the post-war fate of Santa Claus.

Despite his initial enthusiasm towards the idea of bringing back all the major aspects of celebrating Christmas, the Sole Survivor found himself faced with a dilemma: he had absolutely no idea what kind of present to get Hancock.

They were on their way to Diamond City, to see if Travis had any old Christmas music holotapes. As they walked, the Survivor studied the ghoul, as if something about his appearance might give him inspiration. So far, he’d gotten nowhere. Clothes wouldn’t work, because Hancock was obviously very attached to his outfit. He’d considered getting him a new weapon, but that seemed so… unromantic, and also unfitting with the whole “peace on Earth” message that went along with the holidays. Some kind of drug was the obvious choice, but that was precisely why he didn’t want to get him that, either- he wanted to get the ghoul a gift that had some real thought and sentiment behind it. 

And that left… what? Food? Jewelry? Some kind of souvenir? None of those things seemed to be anything Hancock would be interested in.

The Sole Survivor sighed heavily, turning his gaze back towards the road. Hearing the noise, Hancock looked at him questioningly from under the brim of his hat, which he’d pushed down to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Something wrong?” the ghoul asked.

The Survivor shook his head. “No, it’s nothing. Just… thinking about all the stuff we’ve gotta get done.”

Hancock’s mouth quirked to the side, definitely still feeling like something was up. “A’ight. Well, lemme know if you wanna take a little chem break to relieve some of that stress, ‘kay?”

The Survivor chuckled a little. “I’m sure you’re making that offer with absolutely no ulterior motives.”

Hancock put his hands up defensively. “Hey, I never said anything about that.”

The Survivor just laughed and took the ghoul’s hand, trying to show him that he really didn’t have anything to worry about. His radiation-scarred skin was dry and oddly textured against his, and the familiar feeling was reassuring.

The two of them walked in comfortable silence the rest of the way to Diamond City.

They had been into the city together before, and just like usual, the guards seemed unsure how to handle the fact that the famous “Man Out Of Time” was walking into the city holding hands with the mayor of Goodneighbor, who was both infamous and unabashedly a ghoul. And, as usual, the two of them took advantage of the guards’ uncertainty and strolled right in.

As they approached Travis’s trailer, with it’s “DCR” neon sign, Hancock tugged on the Survivor’s hand to get his attention.

“Hey, so while you’re in there, I’m gonna go… take care of some business, okay?” the ghoul said, gesturing with a thumb in the general direction of the city’s market. “Just come find me when you’re done.”

The Sole Survivor’s eyebrows went up a little, but he nodded. “Uh, sure, okay. Don’t let the guards give you any trouble.”

“Don’t you worry about me, babe,” Hancock said bemusedly. He leaned in to kiss the Survivor on the cheek, then strode off towards the market.

Slightly mystified, the Survivor watched him go for a moment longer, then turned back towards Travis’s trailer. As he entered (trying to make as little noise as possible), the man was speaking into the microphone on his desk.

“Dead set on making it shake, here’s Big Maybelle, with ‘Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On’!” Travis hit a button, switched the mic off, then swivelled his chair to face the Sole Survivor. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite vault dweller!” he exclaimed, in the suave new voice he’d started employing since he’d helped the Survivor rescue Vadim. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Travis, I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask,” the Sole Survivor explained. “You’ve got a bunch of pre-war music collected for your radio station, right?”

Travis nodded. “That I do. I only use the best tapes for the show, of course, but I’ve got a whole box of ‘em I’ve collected over the years.”

“Okay, nice- do you know if you have any Christmas music?”

Travis gave him an odd look. “Christmas? I think I’ve heard the word, but isn’t that some pre-war- ohhhhh.” Recognition dawned on his face. “Right, you _are_ pre-war.”

The Survivor smiled wryly. “Yup… I’m trying to relive the glory days, I guess.”

“Well, feel free to take a look,” Travis said, reaching to pick up a weathered cardboard box sitting next to his desk. “I honestly forget what I even have in there, but who knows, you might find something.”

“Awesome- thanks, Travis,” the Survivor said gratefully, taking the box from him and setting it down on a small table by the broadcasting equipment.

“No problem! Now shh, I’ve gotta go back on the air once this song ends.”

The Survivor nodded, motioning like he was zipping his lips.

He started looking through the box as quietly as possible while Travis theorized about the disappearance of Bobbi No-Nose for the umpteenth time (he was honestly beginning to consider admitting to killing her if only to get the man to stop reporting on it over and over again). He recognized a lot of it, most of the holotapes being recordings of music that was popular when he was an adult before the war. The closer he got to the bottom of the box, the more obscure the music got- until finally, his eyes lit on a holotape simply labelled “XMAS.” Searching the rest of the box didn’t turn up anything else, but hey, it was better than nothing.

After finishing a report on the Brotherhood of Steel squad at the Cambridge Police Station (another seriously outdated piece of news), Travis turned back to look at the Sole Survivor. “Well? Did you find anything?”

“Just this,” he replied, holding up the dusty holotape. “Are you all right with lending it out for a bit? I’ll give you some caps for the trouble.”

“Oh no, there’s no need for that,” Travis shook his head. “All I ask is that you bring it back on one piece. I’m just glad some of that old music is seeing some use!”

“All right, thanks! I’ll have it back to you within a week or so,” the Sole Survivor said, putting the holotape in an outer pocket of his bag so it wouldn’t get crushed by anything. “Well, I probably ought to get going. I don’t know what Hancock’s getting up to out there but I don’t want to keep him waiting too long.”

“You two are really quite the pair,” Travis remarked, looking amused.

The Sole Survivor grinned. “I suppose we are, aren’t we?”

Saying his goodbyes to Travis, the Survivor exited the trailer and headed in the direction of the market. As he approached, he started to hear what sounded like a rather heated argument, and… was that Hancock’s voice? He started walking faster.

“Listen, buddy, all I’m trying to do is fucking _buy_ something- you know, exchanging caps for goods and services? And last time I checked, that’s not illegal.” That was Hancock all right, shaking his arm out of the grip of a Diamond City Security officer. Myrna, the general store owner, was standing nearby, her hands on her hips.

“I don’t give a damn what you were trying to do,” growled the officer. “You know ghouls aren’t allowed in Diamond City. Now leave, before I _make_ you-”

“Hey, Hancock!” the Sole Survivor hollered, cutting off the security officer mid-threat as he jogged the rest of the way across the marketplace. “I got that tape I needed from Travis. Is this guy giving you trouble?” He came up alongside the ghoul, hooking an arm around his and looking pointedly at the guard.

The ghoul smirked smugly, his demeanor abruptly changed. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, babe.”

The security officer bristled, but re-shouldered his baseball bat. “Listen, I know you’re some kinda fancy pre-war relic, but that doesn’t mean you can break the law,” he said sternly to the Survivor.

The Sole Survivor raised an eyebrow at him. “My age notwithstanding, we were literally just about to leave. You’ll have to find a way to suck up to your jackass of a mayor other than harassing innocent people.”

The two of them strode off before the argument could escalate further- Hancock especially seemed eager to be out of there. Fortunately, the guard made no effort to stop them.

“Hey, are you all right?” the Sole Survivor asked Hancock quietly as they headed up the ramp leading out of the city. “If you want, I can ask Piper to get you whatever it was you needed to buy.”

The ghoul shook his head, mouth set in a frown. “Nah, it’s fine. I can take care of it.”

“All right, if you’re sure,” the Survivor conceded, but still sounded concerned.

“So what did you get from Travis? Anything good?” Hancock asked, blatantly steering the conversation to a different topic.

The Sole Survivor took the holotape out and showed it to him. “I’m assuming it’s got Christmas music based on the label, but I haven’t tried listening to it yet. Might wait until after we’re out of Super Mutant territory to start blasting holiday tunes.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve had plenty of brawling with ‘muties for at least the next week or so,” Hancock agreed, recalling their escapades from the previous day.

By the time they made it back to Sanctuary Hills, it was starting to get dark, the sunset a sickly gray-yellow through the irradiated clouds. Preston waved to the pair of them from the watchtower, and the Sole Survivor returned the gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding Hancock’s.

As they ate a subdued late dinner, the Sole Survivor found himself almost dreading the next day. He’d talked up Christmas so much to Hancock, and now he was about to let him down because he couldn’t come up with anything to get him as a gift. 

Little did he know that Hancock was plagued by nearly the same worry- the trip to Diamond City had been his last chance to find a present for the Survivor. He’d hoped his charisma could get him past the “No Ghouls Allowed” rule that had led him to leave the city so long ago, but no such luck.

“You know, I never told you about possibly the weirdest Christmas tradition,” the Sole Survivor said, breaking the silence and attempting to disrupt the morose mood.

“Do tell,” Hancock replied through a mouthful of radstag soup.

“Before the war, parents would tell their kids that a guy named Santa Claus watched what they did all year, and if they were good, he’d bring them presents on Christmas, but that if they were bad, he’d only bring them a piece of coal,” the Survivor recounted. “There was this whole legend that he lived at the North Pole and had a bunch of elves that made the presents, and that he flew around the world passing out presents and coal in a flying sleigh pulled by reindeer.”

Hancock barely managed to swallow the soup before he started laughing hysterically, hunching over the table. “Holy fucking shit,” he wheezed. “And the kids just bought that?”

“Oh, absolutely,” the Sole Survivor grinned. “It was almost seen as a sign of increasing maturity when a kid figured out that Santa wasn’t real. I, personally, thought he was real until I was ten or something.”

“Well, I hope you won’t mind if we don’t bring back _that_ particular tradition,” Hancock joked, having regained control over his breathing. “I don’t think I could keep a straight face for long enough.”

“Yeah, somehow a sleigh pulled by radstags doesn’t have the same dramatic effect,” the Survivor agreed, sighing. “Wonder what the North Pole’s like these days?”

“That’s the one at the top of the world, right?” Hancock mused, pointing at the antique globe on the coffee table. “Maybe a little irradiated, but they probably didn’t bomb it. Nobody living there to kill.”

“Heh, who knows? Maybe Santa’s still up there, but he’s a ghoul,” the Survivor theorized, gesticulating in the direction he was imagining the North Pole to be.

Hancock smirked. “If that’s the case, I know a few people who’re getting radioactive coal for Christmas.”

As they settled into bed that night, the Sole Survivor couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy- he’d found a place for himself in this alien new world he’d been thrown into, and found himself feeling happy more and more, but this, the night before Christmas, would never again be the same. He just hoped the day itself would turn out all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, finishing up this chapter was a struggle, but I did it. Thanks so much to everyone who's left nice comments on the fics in this series- you've all helped me a lot with staying motivated! Hopefully I'll be able to post the final chapter on Christmas day.


	4. December 25: Merry Christmas To All, and To All a Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day finally arrives in the wasteland.

The Sole Survivor was woken in the morning by the unmistakeable smell of… Christmas cookies?

Half-convinced he was hallucinating, the human sat up, craning his neck to see around the partition wall separating the bedroom from the kitchen. At first, he saw nothing- but then, Codsworth coasted into view with, sure enough, a plate of cookies held in one of his “hands.”

“Oh, good morning, sir! Merry Christmas!” the robot crowed, waving with an unoccupied appendage. “Would you care for a cookie? It took some creativity to make them, given the limited resources in this day and age, but I dare say they’ve turned out quite well!”

“Uh, sure, thank you,” the Survivor said, bewildered, taking a cookie off the proffered plate. Beside him, Hancock stirred, making an unintelligible noise of confusion.

The cookie really was pretty good- maybe a little dry, but flavored nicely with what seemed to be mutfruit. Chewing contentedly, the Survivor looked back over his shoulder at Hancock, who had cracked open an eye and was staring at him.

Taking a moment to swallow, the Sole Survivor asked, “Want a Christmas cookie?”

The ghoul grinned, opening his other eye. “Well damn, this holiday’s off to a good start already.”

As they sat on the bed eating their (perhaps less than healthy) breakfast, the Sole Survivor had to ask. “So Codsworth, how in the world did you bake these? There’s practically no such thing as an oven anymore.”

Codsworth made a shrug-like motion. “Oh, I just used the hot plate you have in your kitchen. I could only make them a couple at a time like that, but it worked well enough.”

“Jesus!” Hancock exclaimed. “Were you at it all night or something?” 

“Well, I guess that rules out the possibility of the continued existence of Santa Claus,” the Sole Survivor laughed. "Unless he decided we were too bad to even bother visiting."

"Hey, speak for yourself!" Hancock protested, shoving him playfully.

The only holiday business left to take care of was the creation of the closest possible approximation of a Christmas dinner. The Sole Survivor had decided he didn’t want to know what genetic havoc the apocalypse had wrought upon the usual candidates for the main course, so he hunted down a giant mole rat instead. An easy enough task, given the nest of them that lived in the cave under his secondary base at the Red Rocket gas station.

“I might never fully get used to the concept of eating these,” the Survivor remarked, frowning slightly at the unlucky creature as Hancock prepared it to be roasted.

“Yeah, even I’d agree they’re pretty fucked-up looking,” Hancock mused. “Tastes pretty good, though.” Seemingly unbothered by the somewhat gruesome task, he finished up trimming off the less desirable parts of the animal. “Well, this sunuvabitch is ready for the cooking spit. Should take a couple hours, so we might as well get it started now.”

After getting the mole rat started cooking on the fire pit out back, Hancock and the Sole Survivor stood and considered the shelf on which they kept their stock of food.

“Do you think we should try to make food that’s similar to pre-war Christmas food, or just make stuff that we already know is good?” the Survivor asked, looking skeptically at the contents of the pantry. “Because right now I’m not sure I like our chances of making anything resembling cranberry sauce out of this.”

“Well, Insta-Mash is pretty good shit,” Hancock suggested. “Could have that and some vegetables from the farm.”

The Sole Survivor nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

The dinner came together quite nicely, in the end. The Sole Survivor, trying not to think about the fact that some of the food he was working with was almost as old as he was, made the Insta-Mash and vegetables. Codsworth kept an eye on the mole rat as it cooked, and Hancock enlisted Nick, Deacon and Piper to hunt down enough plates and silverware for everyone.

“How many people are coming, again?” Hancock popped his head in the door to shout, his hat askew, brandishing a fistful of forks.

The Sole Survivor frowned thoughtfully, putting down the carrot he was cutting up. “Uh… you, me, Preston, Nick, Piper, Sturges, Mama Murphy…” he continued to mutter names, counting on his fingers. “Seventeen? I think? If the settlers from Outpost Zimonja show up.”

Hancock grimaced and hurriedly recounted the silverware he was holding. “Fuck, thats gonna be a lot of forks,” he complained.

Finally, the table (which was actually several tables of about the same height shoved together) was set, the food placed upon it, and the guests seated in the wide variety of chairs they’d scavenged from the houses to fit them all. They’d ended up having to put the whole setup in the middle of the street, because it was the largest area of even ground available.

Looking down the length of the table from his seat at the end, the Sole Survivor was satisfied that this, at least, had turned out well. Paladin Danse was out of his power armor for once, and was carrying out a surprisingly civil conversation with Sturges. X6-88 seemed bewildered by whatever Mama Murphy was saying to him, but had hesitantly eaten a few bites of his food and seemed to be doing all right. MacCready had brought a bottle of whiskey to the table, and Cait was trying to convince him to share. Nick and Piper were embroiled in a deep discussion about Diamond City politics, with Deacon throwing in a comment from time to time. And next to the Sole Survivor was Hancock, who hadn’t said much so far, but only because he was quite focused on the food in front of him.

The Sole Survivor leaned over to nudge the ghoul’s shoulder. “So, how are you liking Christmas so far?”

Hancock grinned lopsidedly at him, gesturing at his already almost-empty plate with his fork. “Gotta say babe, I could get used to these pre-war traditions.”

The Survivor frowned, suddenly feeling guilty. “Look, I’ve gotta confess something… I know I said a big part of Christmas is giving gifts to the people you care about, but… I couldn’t figure out anything to get you. I’m really sorry.”

Contrary to the response the Sole Survivor had been expecting, Hancock actually sounded relieved. “Well shit, that takes a load off my shoulders. I didn’t manage to get you anything either- Diamond City Security saw to that.”

The Survivor looked back at the ghoul from where he’d averted his eyes, stunned. “ _That’s_ why you were trying to buy something at the market? I thought it was some mayoral thing.”

Hancock laughed at that, setting down his fork. “What kind of ‘mayoral business’ would _I_ have to take care of in Diamond City? Nah, I figured I wanted to get you something nice, and that seemed like the best place to do it.”

“Well, I guess it all worked out in the end, huh?” the Sole Survivor said, feeling much lighter. “I still feel a little bad, though, that I talked up Christmas so much but then messed up one of the biggest parts of it.”

“Here, babe, I tell ya what.” Hancock smirked, and leaned in, lowering his voice so only the Survivor could hear him. “Once we get back to the house, you get out that mistletoe shit again, and I’ll give you a _real_ present.”

The Sole Survivor turned pink. “Hancock, that’s not even how mistletoe works,” he protested, mildly flustered.

“Says who?” the ghoul grinned. “There’s no rule about _where_ you have to kiss the other person, is there?”

The Sole Survivor turned even redder at that, and was almost relieved when Nick, without even looking at them, announced, “If you two think I can’t hear what you’re saying over there, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Piper cackled at that, and the Survivor put his face in his hands. Hancock just laughed.

But sure enough, later that night, after the table had been cleared of what little food remained and the furniture had been returned to its rightful places, Hancock made good on his promise, and a very merry (if somewhat unorthodox) Christmas was had by all.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooly shit. I almost didn't finish this in time, after A) an exhausting day of dealing with my relatives and B) being informed that they do, in fact, celebrate Christmas in the wasteland, meaning the entire point of this fic is moot. Oops. But I had to see it through, and goddammit, I did. This is the first multichapter fic I've ever finished, and I'm really quite proud of myself.
> 
> Happy holidays, everybody!

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure whether to just post this as I go, or post it once I'd written it all, but I decided it'd motivate me to finish it more if I did it like this. Just as a side note, I have no idea if people actually celebrate Christmas in the wasteland or not, but a quick search of the Fallout wiki didn't turn up anything, so I'm assuming they don't. If I'm wrong about that, oh well.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
